We decided we wanted to go one valley east, the Ossau Valley. Ossau is the other half of Ossau-Iraty cheese. We had been in Iraty country for days and had been seeing signs for farms that are producers of this long-favorite cheese. Ossau-Iraty is widely available at home, which is probably a strong indication that it has to have pretty big production. It has its own AOC, or appellation controlee. We had for days been on what is known as the Route des Fromages, or route of the cheeses, and had seen hundreds of identified Ossau-Iraty farms (if not more). It was very impressive to see the magnitude of farmers and herds of sheep that allows for such wide distribution.
We started east on what is known as La Route des Cols, or the route of the passes. This sounded auspicious for my pilgrimage to the mountains. Our first pass was Col de Marie-Blanque, which topped out at 1035 meters. When we got out of the car at the pass to stare up at the rocky peaks over our heads, we were surprised to be serenaded by cowbells--one of my favorite sounds in the world.
As we made our way back down toward the valley, we were stopped by the sight of a farmer about to take his flock of sheep from one pasture to another across the road. We came to a screaming halt (well not really, but a hasty stop indeed). The farmer indicated he would hold the flock for us to go by, but I jumped out of the car, staying behind my door to indicate no threat but showing my camera so he knew I wanted to photograph the crossing. He waved and went about his business. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to do a video of the crossing, but my thoughts were just focused on those sheep and the farmer and the working sheepdog with them.
When the sheep were all safely in their new pasture and the farmer had closed the gate, the sheepdog immediately turned his attention on us. He headed straight for our car and laid down in front of my open door, angled in front of the tire. We were going nowhere until he got the all clear signal. Eventually the farmer signaled to the dog and he immediately took his leave of us and headed home. We felt so lucky to get to watch that. No one else around but the farmer, his sheep, his dog, and us. Pure bliss! I had a smile on my face for many miles after that.
Not much further down the pike, we encountered some horses in the road. They didn't seem to be going anywhere and they had nothing to eat where they were standing, so their presence was a bit puzzling. Then we found a herd of cows grazing away and making music with their bells.
Once we made it down to the valley, we traveled south awhile. We had decided we wanted to take a north-south road that ended in the mountains, rather than one that was heading for points in Spain and was therefore more heavily trafficked. So off we went on the next stage of La Route des Cols, which would get us yet another valley to the east.
Our next pass was the Col d'Aubisque, the road reaching 1709 meters. This pass is quite famous on the Tour de France. This turned out to be a better (i.e., wider) road, but oh my goodness did we climb. And climb. Very twisty road to the top of the pass. Seemed innocent enough at the beginning, but soon became quite steep with no guardrails and major drop offs. (Have I mentioned that I have a pretty solid fear of heights? Especially if there are no safety nets, so to speak. So what were we doing here? This is a question I was pondering pretty seriously at this point.) The good news is that I had sweaty palms and was making odd whimpering sounds for only a few minutes of the drive. Once we reached the top and got out to look around, I was fine, much to Jerry's relief!
After we'd been making our descent awhile, I mentioned to Jerry that given the incredible climb we'd made, it didn't feel like we were going down very much. No sooner had those words left my mouth than we started climbing again. Then we saw a sign that said we were climbing to yet another pass, the Col de Soulon, which only went to 1474 meters.
We had not known of La Route des Cols before we bumped into it, and we had no idea of the extent of it. It turns out that this is the way one makes the trip from the Atlantic (starting in Bayonne) to the Mediterranean (ending in Perpignan). There are 34 passes in all. Given our excitement with the three we did this day, I think I can safely say this might not be the route of my dreams after all. Loved what we saw, but 10-12 times as many passes? I don't think so! The three were wonderful, thrilling, and beautiful--and enough.
When we got back down to the valley and headed out to the end of the road to a town called Cauterets, which is inside the Pyrenees National Park, we were reminded of the surprises one bumps into when one decides to travel completely on whim. What we thought would be a quiet town at the foot of the mountains turned out to be a major hiking and ski town. Seventeen chairlifts, hundreds of kilometers of hiking trails. Given the steepness of the slopes, it's quite hard to imagine either skiing or hiking in those hills, but obviously a lot of people think otherwise. There were many, many vacation chalets, rental apartments, and hotels. There were also thermal spa centers. Not a grand place, nor a peaceful place, but an interesting surprise for us nonetheless.
The view from our room.
Our lodging for the night, the Hotel du Lion d'Or, may not have been in the setting we had in mind, but it was very old and charming and filled with marvelous antiques. The same family has run it since 1915.
Much as we enjoyed our hotel, the fact that we ended up in a highly touristed ski town is a pretty good reminder of why I prefer to plan my trips. We had chosen to play this segment of the trip very loose--partly as an antidote to the highly scripted days of our Road Scholar tour. The planner in me, however, thinks a tad more planning might be the ticket.
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